


Break the Mold

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coda, Episode: s12e09 First Blood, Implied Sexual Content, Insomnia, Insomniac Dean, Inspired by Music, M/M, Some Humor, but no actual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9491702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Cas closes his eyes, then opens them again. The blues in them are dark; certainly not anything whiskey can water down even if that would help him. His fingers have moved onto scratching the surface of the wooden table. “Lancaster, Missouri,” he says, like the name is a curse that burns his tongue, “You guys were gone, and there was a case. I did everything, but I just, I-I couldn’t…” He grinds his jaw, still not looking at Dean.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Because the one scene that had me tearing up was Cas's confession about what happened in Lancaster. I just wanted to wrap him in a hug.

Break the Mold

_Title inspired by a line from X Ambassadors’, “Naked”._

He feels the weight on him heavier than a leaf supporting a raindrop as he shifts in bed.

Usually he can handle the extra baggage—Dean already has hundreds of unclaimed luggage waiting for him at every airport carousel—but tonight, there's nothing to push the thoughts aside for the time being. No Amara, no Mark, no signs of the Biblical Apocalypse resurfacing anytime soon. No saving Sam or Cas from Lucifer's hold. No new cases, which means no hunting, no new wounds that make the open surgeries on _Grey's Anatomy_ look like a game of _Operation._

He’s sitting erect on his bed—at least as erect as he can as the raindrop slips a little down his spine, which bends to support the added weight. He buries his head in his hands and runs his fingers across his scalp. He repeats this process a few times before padding out of his room, the cool tile greeting his feet every few seconds a stark but much needed contrast from the sweat sticking to him like a magnet.

He reaches the top of the stairs, gripping the railing for any support other than physical. The stairs feel like Lego blocks against his soles, but that’ll just take some getting used to. He presses forward until he reaches the lower level of the Bunker.

The fridge is unappealing. Not because they need to grocery shop. The fridge has virtually every kind of leftover imaginable in neatly stacked plastic tubs, including some of Mom’s “not-homemade” cooking. Even the beer is freshly stocked. Or, rather, it’s been stocked since they left.

He actually laughs, and though it’s quiet and kept to himself, it feels like a stranger on his mouth—eating the same things every day turns you into a picky son of a bitch.

He moves out of the kitchen and into the library, where a single light from the table lamp illuminates a familiar figure crowded against the table. “Cas?”

No answer. Cas is hunched over his laptop. His eyes are weighed down like the sand on a washed-up beach, slipping from shore every now and then. His hand is propped up loosely against his cheek, which Dean can tell he’s biting furiously on to keep awake. Whatever he’s doing can’t be healthy, because it’s putting an angel to sleep, but, at this time of night, Dean will have what he’s having.

Dean’s no more than a couple feet away from him now, and Cas still hasn’t noticed. Tentatively, he extends his hand for Cas’s shoulder.

Cas doesn’t flinch. Cas, who can serve him up Shish-Kabob style in a matter of seconds with his Angel Blade, turns his head slightly and says, “Hello, Dean.”

“Buddy, what’re you doing in here?” He peers over the laptop just a little as he continues, “Because you’d be having a _lot_ more fun if it were—”

Cas shifts the screen further away from Dean’s view, then, realizing the error in his impulsive action, sighs long-windedly, “It’s not—I don’t need to…”

“Good, now that I have your attention,” Dean says, taking the seat next to him, “what’s really up?”

Cas moves from his cheek to his lip with the biting. He closes his laptop. “I’m looking at a case in Missouri.”

Dean’s eyebrows perk up at the sound of “case”. “What’s the scoop?”

“You mean what _was.”_

“I don’t follow.”

Cas closes his eyes, then opens them again. The blues in them are dark; certainly not anything whiskey can water down even if that would help him. His fingers have moved onto scratching the surface of the wooden table. “Lancaster, Missouri,” he says, like the name is a curse that burns his tongue, “You guys were gone, and there was a case. I did _everything,_ but I just, I-I couldn’t…” He grinds his jaw, still not looking at Dean.

“How many people died?”

“It’s too late,” Cas expresses woefully.

“How many, Cas?” Dean presses. Now Cas turns to look at him.

Dean’s not expressing anger or disappointment, only concern, so Cas blinks, and responds, “Three. Three more than when I arrived.”

“Cas, do you know how many people have died while _we’ve_ worked cases?”

Cas narrows his eyes. That’s enough answer for Dean to continue:

“A lot,” Dean replies flatly. “And I mean _a lot._ We could’ve been hunting Tony the Friggin’ Tiger. Sometimes, even with a simple case, you can’t get to everyone in time.”

“You said simple.”

“Yeah.”

“I-I… how did you—?”

“Mom told me,” Dean clarifies, “about the case, the nest.”

Cas looks down.

“Listen, man, you can’t keep torturing yourself over this. Believe me, you won’t find an answer. You’ll just get trapped in a spiral of _what if’s_.”

Cas nods slightly, but looks at Dean fully to ask, “How are you, Dean?”

Dean leans back in his chair. “Peachy.”

“You’re lying.”

“You’re brilliant, Cas.”

“Why?” Cas asks, shakes his head. “Why do we do this?”

Dean’s not sure if Cas is inquiring about the lie, or about their messed up lives in general, so he answers the simpler question: “You remember what I said to you some years ago, when you came along with me on that case to track down Raphael—before you flashed your upside-down badge and had the Sheriff convinced you were on some heavy-duty drugs?”

Cas cracks a small smile at the memory. Dean does too before he continues, “I said that we’re human—or, you’re _more_ human, at least. You know, without the giant stick up your ass.”

“Is there a point coming soon?”

“I said that we’re humans,” Dean repeats, “and as humans, when we want something really, _really_ bad, we lie.”

Cas’s mouth parts—the most reaction Dean’s gotten out of him tonight. Dean manages to get a reaction out of himself too: His face is completely red from his heart working overtime to restore the oxygen he lacked moments prior.

He may be a leaf, sometimes held down by life’s unpredictability, but right now, Dean feels weightless enough to soar through the sky.

 

 _“No more lies, no more hate_  
No more waiting in the wings  
Take my hand, take this danger  
I just wanna say

_“From my head to my toes_  
Feeling overexposed  
I wanna be naked with you  
All my faults, all your stars  
Who I am, who you are  
I wanna be, oh, naked with you, naked with you.”

_~ X Ambassadors, “Naked”_


End file.
